


Slasher Ficlets

by Korpuskat



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Chapters have Ratings and Warning on them, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21877981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/pseuds/Korpuskat
Summary: A collection of smaller bits and pieces crossposted from my Tumblr. Tags and content vary by chapter.
Relationships: Billy Loomis/Reader, Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader, Michael Myers/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 141





	1. Thaw [Michael Myers/Reader][Teen?]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS ASKED -  
> “It’s too cold! Get back here…” with Michael

December strikes with a vengeance; the chill of November snapping into a merciless, frozen yuletide. You draw your blankets high around your ears and cautiously press closer to the furnace in your bed.

Michael is awake and you are engaged in a very dangerous game. As it is, Michael lies on his back, still relaxed and blinking slowly in the low morning light. You had fallen asleep on his chest last night, but woke off to his side which gives you hope that he is in a particularly good mood. If he was not continuously awake enough to keep you from rolling off him all night, he’s slept more than most nights.

You ooch towards him again, push your legs up against his. Piercing blue irises slide to peer at you, unreadable. That gives you pause, makes you hesitate and question what is happening behind his cool eyes. You never quite know which way Michael will swing when it comes to touch, but you think you’re in luck. Michael’s usual foreboding presence has vanished from the air, the ever-persistent need to kill quieted for a short while.

He watches, silent, as you lift one arm under the blankets. You skate your fingertips across the rough fabric of the coveralls he’d worn to bed again. When he inhales, his chest nearly meets your palm and you feel the warmth that bleeds off him, all the while he stares with one icy eye. Your arm relaxes, lies light and delicate over his abdomen—

He sits up, knocks your arm off him. He lifts the blankets to get up and you hiss; cold air sinks through the warm refuge you’d cultivated. “No, Michael,” you whine and reach for him. You catch him by one sleeve, tug on it gently. “It’s too cold! Get back here…”

He turns to look at you again and you pout. You know you’ve made a mistake. He’ll be in a sour mood all day now, will be completely uncooperative just to spite your greedy affections. Yet he does not shake off your feeble grasp- instead you watch as Michael’s gaze dips lower.

In chasing him, the blankets have slipped off your shoulders. Cold air nips at the fading bruises of Michael’s cruel hands and mouth.

His eyes are no longer dull with sleep, now attentive and sharp- for Michael has a very different idea on how to stay warm. And as that predatorial aura fills your bedroom, you realize you have made a very different mistake.


	2. Dressed [Michael Myers/Reader][PG]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous on Tumblr said: "Are you wearing my shirt?" Michael Myers, I wanna see how that'd go lol

You had claimed his coveralls for the laundry so in actuality it was your fault. 

Wasn’t he _cold?_

Usually Michael had no problem relegating himself to a spare pair of gray sweatpants you’d bought just for laundry day. Sometimes he’d even don the black shirts you’d gotten for him, plain things you’d picked out specifically because they fit his exceptional frame. He’s not interested in fashion, in self-expression through clothes so you’d never bothered with anything more intricate than a crew cut or a tank top. 

But now you stare at his back as stands on the porch, arms crossed and watching something far off at the ruined fence that bordered your property. You’d come to offer to make hot chocolate but now- 

“Are you wearing my shirt?” 

Michael turns and you watch as his obliques twist, the delicate line of his spine turning away from you as you stare not at the scrap of white fabric that clings desperately to his shoulders, but the pale, exposed midriff and the trail of salt-and-pepper hair below his navel.

He turns and the first beginnings of warped, black script across the front of the first appear. Your mind flip-flops between being aroused by any inch of skin more than Michael’s usual extremely conservative coveralls and wanting to cry laughing. He looks good, but he looks even better in your flimsy white top with a bold proclamation across his chest: _I’m Baby._


	3. Appreciation [Michael Myers/Reader][Teen?]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS ASKED -  
> “Your hair is so soft...” prompt for Michael Myers ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here for your daily dose of ooc softie mike

The room is peaceful and dark. Soft pattering of rainfall fills the cabin, but is not quite as soft as your breathing. Michael had found a few hours’ respite at some point and you had rolled off of him and over towards one side of the bed, kicking the blankets off you as you went. Now you slept facing away from him, splayed out in what had been a way to release the heat that lingered on your skin. 

But Michael no longer slept and knew well enough he would find no more rest tonight. Without any needs to tend to, no whims to fulfill, Michael lies as still as he’d slept, flat on his back, the blankets only disturbed by your wiggling away from his warmth. He turns his head towards you, view unimpeded by the mask which sits on the nightstand. Soon, he will put it on and soon he will find something to entertain him. Perhaps he will go hunting again.

But for now he looks upon you. He watches the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest in sync with the muffled, sleepy exhales. Your hair cascades across the pillow, shines under the moonlight. Michael has never felt much for appearances, held no preferences for his victims’ appearance. He hardly noticed what you looked like when he had first met you, but now, he thinks, he has some appreciation for it.

His fingers card through your hair, strands splitting around his digits and he draws his hand over your head. Hair meant nothing to him for a long time. He found it useful in controlling prey, in controlling you and he’s found it interesting when you twist your fingers into your own hair when you cannot grab at him. He’s enjoyed the motion of it bobbing and swaying when he moves inside you, how it spreads across the sheets in a wild halo. 

He touches your hair and thinks he could pull it now and see the pain dance across your face. His fingers slide through your locks and Michael presses his thumb down over one strand, flattening it down. _This is what you do to him,_ he realizes, the memory of your fingers working through his hair with shampoo and scratching soft lines onto his scalp lingers not far from the surface of his mind. He enjoys that. Michael is sure you know he enjoys it even without him asking you to do it. 

It puzzled him for a while, why you would stroke his hair with such care and tenderness when he rarely returns the feeling. 

Now he thinks he understands why. Your hair is soft under his pads, parts in thick strands that wrap around his fingers. One fingernail scratches gently at your scalp and in your sleep you sigh. His hands leave your hair only long enough to find purchase on your side. 

He pulls you back to him and you roll to face him, a sleepy, half-dreamed “Michael?” on your lips. He positions you on his chest again, just how he had fallen asleep before, and waits patiently for your breathing to even out again. Only when he is sure you are back under the Sandman’s spell do his fingers return to your hair, combing through with soothing repetition.

His mask sits on the nightstand, forgotten.


	4. Foreplay vs Aftercare HCs [Explicit]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foreplay vs Aftercare headcanons feat. Michael Myers, Billy Loomis, and Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW: Noncon/dubcon, stalking, "snuff"** for Danny's part. Snuff because it's Dead By Daylight.

## Michael Myers

Before

  * michael: foreplay?? whats what?
  * Really depends on the day. If it’s post-murder, Michael is not here at all for you, you’re just convenient. At best, he might want to drag it out with some grinding. But probably not.
  * Any other time he actually likes tension beforehand. Not a fan of (giving) oral, definitely prefers groping and grinding to anything that requires finesse
  * Only slightly about getting you off (bc he knows he can with his dick, why bother with anything else?), not even really about his own pleasure. This absolutely about reinforcing his power over you and that you will submit to him so completely
  * Most likely time to get him to talk, usually in terms of commands or taunts.
  * Choking, so much choking.
  * Uses his knife less than you would think (mostly post-murder or when he wants to kill)



After

  * This is the nicest, softest Michael that can exist barring inebriation. Time to take advantage of that and get some physical affection
  * He’s not _quite_ cuddly, but almost. Best time to pull him close and hold him. Mostly just lies there and takes it, might actually _kind of_ cuddle back on occasion by way of rubbing his hands over your skin
  * Only time for kisses that aren’t 95% teeth (they’re still abt 10% teeth tho, he’s a bitey boy and knows exactly what’s going on).
  * falls asleep really fast unless he’s _really_ keyed up. He likes his sleep uninterrupted (for what sleep he can get) so best be in a comfy position. Only motion allowed is if you’re stroking his hair or back.
  * tbh hes probably into cockwarming post-sex



## Billy Loomis

Before

  * Likes having his ego stroked but honestly is the only one here that’s actually concerned if you’re enjoy it at all
  * Gentlest of the three
  * _phone sex_
  * b i t i n g
  * Honestly he just has an oral fixation so he’s all about using his mouth wherever he can
  * Knifeplay (If you don’t know he’s Ghostface he’ll probably press the knife against you and tease and be like ‘What if I was? Would you still love me?’)



After

  * Really likes romantic declarations post-sex tbh? Doesn’t matter how kinky or rough it was he’s very soft and whisper-y about how much he loves you and is gonna be with you forever
  * Is not actually super into cuddling, but will if you like it
  * Most likely to be ready to fuck again
  * Most likely to forget to undo restraints



## Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen

 **tw: dubcon/possibly noncon, snuff** bc I exclusively write Dead By Daylight!Danny and do not see him, uh, capable of having a Normal Relationship.

Before

  * Also not about you at all, he’s just here to have his ego stroked and prolong your overall fear lol (either bc he’s the fucking killer or because you’re Established and then have to worry about other survivors realizing what’s going on)
  * Foreplay started for him at least 20 minutes earlier, fucking voyeur stalking you around the map/the campfire. 
  * Has a pierced tongue and _will_ use it. (If you’re in a trial it’s only if you’re the last one, just cause he doesn’t want to take off his mask).
  * Is all about making you whimper and moan, absolutely eats that up. As said he is here 500% for himself, this is entirely about his ability to manipulate you.
  * will not shut the fuck up, absolutely into dirty talk and he just won’t stop the entire time. Usually in terms of wanting you to tell him how good he is, that you like it, but also creepy, violent, and possessive stuff- that no other killer could touch you, that he watched when you were killed in a previous trial, etc.
  * Absolutely uses his knife
  * Absolutely takes pictures



After

  * Least cuddly of the three, he’s gotten what he wanted.
  * Only kills you if you’re the last one left in a trial. But honestly that’s just because he doesn’t want to have to wait for you to open the gates or find the hatch. (Sometimes he does, just so he can follow you and take pictures while you look like a fucking wreck).
  * Otherwise he just leaves you there so he can get back to work killing your friends or fuck off into the fog again
  * Takes another picture.




	5. Christmas [Michael, Thomas, Danny]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlets of exchanging gifts with Michael, Thomas, and Danny
> 
> Michael and Thomas's are PG, Danny's is mature and features knifeplay and brief violence against Reader.

> **Michael** [PG | WC: 826]

You fidget on the couch, already anxious. You really wanted to share something nice with him, but now you were worried if he’d care at all. Michael sits next to you, staring blankly at the flat little box, all wrapped up in shiny red paper and tied with green ribbon. He hadn’t reacted at all as you placed it on his lap, barely lifted his eyes to meet yours at your meek “Merry Christmas.” 

Now he stares at the gift box and you wonder if he even remembers what Christmas is. You know so little about his life inside Smith’s Grove, had they ever tried to celebrate with him? Were you… bringing back unwanted memories? You bite at your lip, wonder if maybe you could defuse this before it happens. 

“If you don’t…” You start, but pause as you watch Michael’s finger slip under the satiny ribbon. He pulls the bow out, slow and measured despite the lack of interest on his face. He picks through paper and reveals the plain, thin cardboard beneath it. You can’t suppress your smile, you know you got a good gift for him–

And Michael lifts the flimsy lid. You watch his eyebrows lift minutely, the only hint at what’s going on his mind and your grin becomes obnoxious. Inside, pillowed in white tissue paper, is an obscene amount of candy- mostly a variety of little hard caramels in shiny foil wraps, but in the center was a hefty chunk of saran-wrapped handmade chocolate bark.

Michael picks it up and peels back the plastic wrap to reveal the multicolored chocolate in all its glory. “It’s salted caramel,” You say and you’re much too giddy, too proud of your creation. “With pecans. I thought you’d like that. There’s more in the kitchen.” 

He lifts the chocolate bark and so delicately bites off the corner of the chunk. It _snaps_ satisfyingly and you’re filled with excitement- you’d tempered the chocolate well and as Michael lowered the chocolate a long string of the semi-soft caramel stretched between his mouth and his hand. Michael swipes off the caramel with one finger and if you weren’t already vibrating with innocent Christmas joy, you might’ve thought to blush- he sucks the sweet string off his finger and immediately goes to break off another piece of the bark. 

“You like it?” You venture and are rewarded with Michael’s swift nod. “Good.” You smile- and with Michael fully distracted with his gift, you lean forward, nearly have to get up on your knees just to reach him, and press a kiss to his stubbly cheek. “Merry Christmas, Michael.” 

He does not kiss you back, but he also does not reject you as you press against warm his side and pick up the remote. “So,” You start and flick over to the TV guide, “I’m going to guess you haven’t seen many Christmas specials.” Another snap of the chocolate, you hadn’t expected a real response anyway. 

“Did you ever read _How the Grinch Stole Christmas?”_ Michael stills for a moment, you watch his eyes shoot up to the screen and read the description on the guide. You really hope you weren’t pushing your luck, but as Michael went back to nibbling appreciatively, you figured you were in the clear. 

You select it and settle in closer to Michael’s side and let him adjust so his arm rests behind you. 

In the morning, one lazy stretch of your arm confirms the sheets on Michael’s side of the bed are cool and unoccupied; he must not have slept very well. Too bad; you’d hoped for warm morning touches, of any variety. You sweep your hand over his side and- 

You blink the sleep from your eyes and sit up. Your room is empty, the door to your bedroom left ajar. On Michael’s side of the bed, amongst the ruffled sheets, is a soft, gray blanket still folded up, a fake white ribbon held on with velcro holds the tag in place. The ribbon is slightly rumpled, a peculiar pink tinge dotted over where the lines criss-crossed, as though it had been carried by the ribbon. You can’t help but smile and touch the fabric, you sigh and stroke at the plush fibers. 

You carry the folded-up blanket into the kitchen- and find Michael standing in front of the container that had once been full of chocolate bark. From how far he has to dip his fingers into get another piece, he’s made quite a dent already. You might just have to make more. 

You snip off the tag and leave the fake velcro ribbons on the counter. Michael does not turn towards you to watch as you drape the blanket over your shoulders. When you lay a hand on his shoulder and rise as high as you can on your toes, he does duck his head just enough to let you press another kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Michael.” 

> **Thomas** [PG | WC: 665]

“Do you like it?” You ask, eyes flitting between Thomas’s half-concealed face and the gift he held in his hands. The box was large enough to be uncomfortable to set on your lap, but in his rough hands it looks dainty. Dark eyes scan the red lettering and though you worry he can’t read everything the box advertises, he surely recognizes the large image front and center. “It’s a sewing machine,” You say and look at the little arrows on the box emphasizing the powerful motor, “for leatherwork.”

His eyebrows raise slowly, his face lifting to stare at you. He nods, first contained and then energetically, his dark curls bouncing in his excitement. You grin- and barely manage to set down your cocoa before Thomas is pulling you into a bear hug, pushing the sewing machine off his lap and onto the couch so he can hold you closer. You laugh and it’s the best sound Thomas has ever heard; his fingers dive into your hair, strong forearm wrapping around your waist to keep next to him. You curl your arms around his broad shoulders and press your cheek to his jaw. “You’re welcome, Tommy.” 

He lets you go after a minute, those huge hands coming to settle at your hips. You don’t go far, still perched on his lap. “So, where’s my gift, handsome?” A pink tinge sneaks above the edge of his mask and Thomas looks askance. You think it’s just from the pet name- but then he picks at your shirt hem and won’t meet your eyes. 

You stroke at his hair, draw the dark strands away from his face. One gnarled scar peeks up above the edge of the leather, slithers across his skin up to the edge of his ear. You touch it softly- and Thomas shivers, his eyes falling closed. “Tommy?”

He finally looks at you again and you want to fall into his big, dark eyes that shine so beautifully, you want to smother his skin in kisses until the fear and vulnerability are washed from his face forever. He doesn’t need to speak for you to be able to read his deeply expressive face. He’s worried- ashamed. “It’s okay if you didn’t get me anything.” You say and stroke over that scar again. 

One huge hand covers yours, holds your palm to his masked cheek as he shakes his head. With the other he reaches into his pants pocket. If the sewing machine’s box was dainty in his hands, this tiny thing was hardly more than a trinket. It’s just a little cardboard thing, unwrapped and plain. You catch Thomas’s eyes before taking the box into your hands, your heart already racing. A box this small, there’s only a handful of things that could fit inside.

Thomas’s eyes bore into you, his breath coming in short, anxious puffs, his hands- now back at your hips- stroke at your sides, though you don’t know if it’s supposed to be soothing you or him. You lift the tiny lid- and gasp. Tommy’s eyebrows jump as you breathe out, “Oh my god,” 

In the box, among white tissue paper, is a ring. A simple little thing; one faux-antiqued band with three round-cut stones set side by side, onyx set in the center, flanked on either side by moonstone. You pick up the tiny thing and stare at it, turning it in the light and watching how the reflection slides across the gems’ well polished faces. 

“Like it?” Thomas echoes you, his voice is low and rough, breathy in his worry. 

You nod, can’t help the grin that splits your cheeks. You slide the ring on and find it just a touch loose. You don’t ask where he found it. “I love it, Tommy.” You watch as teeth appear under the mask, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. You lunge forward, wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his hair just over his ear. “Thank you.” 

> **Danny** [Mature | WC: 714] [CW: knife, violence]

“I wasn’t sure what to get you.” You preface the gift, grimacing at the shiny paper. You hand him the strange-looking object– a wide square base with a smaller square on top. He was so damn hard to shop for, his gift was the one you had dreaded picking out all month. You figured if nothing else- 

One dark eyebrow arches up. “Am I really that difficult?” He turns the gift in his hands and listens as _something_ inside it shifts.

 _“Yes.”_ You groan and it only makes Danny’s hazel eyes shine brighter.

His fingernails cut through the paper neatly, pulling apart your wrapping and revealing the contents. It was not one gift, but rather five you had sneakily taped together to at least hope to make him guess. The bottom is made up of four boxes of film rolls, fresh and ready for his photography. 

One corner of Danny’s lips lifts as he looks at the box- it’s the brand he uses, you know it is. He isn’t the only one who can snoop. Not that it was really snooping; he’d left the empty boxes on his desk. “Thanks, doll.”

Not very fun, but least he appreciated it, you know he’ll use them. “Keep going.” 

The smaller box on top is black and nondescript. The perfect size for a ring. He looks up to you, a playful, silent question on his tongue. He thumbs open the lid- and you nearly laugh at the way his face twists. His eyebrows raise comically high as he peers down at the gift. 

“I thought I might need a map. In case I forgot.” You grin and Danny actually laughs. The barbell is tiny in his fingers and he brings it up close to his eyes to stare at the tiny writing. “There’s actually a whole twelve pack, but I thought you’d enjoy that one most.” 

“Oh? What was your second choice?” 

_“I swallow.”_

Danny snorts. “I’m glad we have the same idea about Christmas gifts.” He offers you a simple rectangular box with black, glossy paper and a red ribbon tied in a bow, then sticks his tongue out and begins loosening the simple black stud he had in. 

Same idea? You frown at the box; it’s a little short to be a dildo and Danny was more into restraints and canes than something to fuck you with when he could do it himself. With his mouth occupied, his knowing smile has migrated to his eyes, a dark glitter about them as you work off the crimson ribbon. Could be a bullet vibe- asshole would probably love to stick that in you while you’re working-

You lift the lid. You frown, tip your head. “You switch up some presents, Danny?”

He’s just finished tightening the new stud and you watch as he moves his tongue about, feeling the new texture. “Of course not.” 

In black tissue paper, the spring-assisted knife is already extended, the anodized blade having bit through the thin layers of paper. You pick it up; the grip is a textured matte black, little holes punched out so you can see the metal of the tang. It’s sharp and the urge to press your thumb to the edge just to see if it would cut is strong. “How’s this the same idea?”

 _Oof-_ your head cracks against the floor and the world spins; weight on your chest knocks the air from your lungs and you strain to inhale, to writhe under the assault- and something slams your hand to the hardwood. You choke out some startled noise and drop the knife. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” You blink and realize Danny is perched on your chest, his knee digging into your left arm- in his hands he turns the knife. It flashes dangerously, but not nearly as dangerous as the heated, predatory look in Danny’s hazel eyes, as the slowly growing grin with too much teeth. “We both got something we wanted.” 

And Danny’s tongue slips out, his new stud clicking against his teeth as your gift stares you down. It and the blade were your only clues to what, exactly, Danny had in mind. He laughs, cool and amused at the heat spreading over your cheeks. On his tongue, a half-flat stud reads _cum here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted over on my [Tumblr](https://www.https://korpuskat.tumblr.com/post/189868625772/christmas-with-michael-thomas-and-danny)!


End file.
